You had spent the entire evening preparing, excitement bubbling up as you waited for Dean to arrive. You both had planned this date days in advance, a chance to catch up and visit your favorite spot. But as the minutes stretched into hours, your anticipation turned into boredom. With a sigh, you sent Dean a text, asking about the date. The response came with a cold detachment: "I don't know. I'm out with my girl best friend right now." Then, nothing. He went offline, leaving you alone with the sinking realization that Dean had chosen to spend the evening with his best friend. His ex girlfriend.

Days passed, filled with awkward silences and unanswered questions. Finally, both you and Dean managed to align your schedules, deciding to meet at his place. The night was heavy with unspoken tension, the air thick with the weight of what was left unsaid. Dean was distant, his once easy-going demeanor replaced by uncertainty.

The next morning, the sun barely beginning to rise, you found Dean in the bathroom. He stood by the sink, lazily dragging a razor across his face. The sink was a mess, scattered with bandages and spots of blood from fresh wounds caused by the careless shave. His eyes, tired and unfocused, met yours in the mirror. "It's still early in the morning," he muttered, his voice as weary as his gaze.